The Game
by Schoene
Summary: One wintry evening, the sixth-year boys play a game. Neville embarrasses himself, and Harry faces an unexpected challenge. (Currently one-shot, but may be expanded at a later date. This could be considered pre-slash, pairing HPDM.)


**Summary: _Currently one-shot, but may be expanded at a later date. This could be considered pre-slash._  
Rating/Warnings: _Currently PG-13 for language and mild slash._  
Pairing: _Harry/Draco._  
Length: _Nearing 3,000 words._  
A/N: _I wrote this about a year ago, but here it is rewritten, tidied and edited. I think it still needs a bit of work!_  
Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Inc., along with various and sundry publishers including but not limited to Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Bloomsbury Books. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended._ **

Harry Potter could appreciate a generous snowfall. He'd awoken that morning to a wondrous view from the wide windows of Gryffindor tower: White, downy flakes fluttering and pausing in the breeze. It was a heavy sheet of reticence that swept across the earth and trapped everything beneath it, stilling nature in its awesome silence. The lake's shadowy depths reflected the sullen grey of clouds where it had not yet turned to ice. The Great Hall had even been peaceful at breakfast time.

However, it was no longer morning, and the rowdy giggles and screeches that travelled across the chilly evening air were testament to the fact that no seasonal quietude could be found here. Harry grinned despite himself, and managed to fling himself to the ground just in time to miss a stray snowball that threatened to break his train of thought - or, rather, his nose, since it was one of Draco Malfoy's cronies who had lobbed it unceremoniously in his direction, and the thing looked particularly menacing for a snowball. Ron snorted as it smacked against a tree and the snow fell away, revealing a jagged rock hidden inside. _How very Slytherin_, Harry thought.

"That bloody git," Harry's redheaded friend seethed venomously before crouching down to prise a larger rock from the patch of exposed earth from whence the two boys had earlier taken the snow to build a crude fortress that now loomed rather ridiculously in front of them. It was lucky that Ron had chosen that moment to duck, because another rock in the guise of compacted snow flew through the space of air that had just recently accommodated the Weasley boy's head.

Harry smiled as what sounded like Neville Longbottom's terror-ridden yelp sounded from a nearby copse of trees, and someone's hearty laugh travelled in the cool, thin wind. His suspicion was confirmed when Neville scuttled pathetically past their fort, avidly pursued by an enchanted snowball that did not want to leave the boy alone. Harry was guiltily quite pleased for the distraction Neville's obvious distress offered Malfoy, if only for the break from the sadistic boy's belligerent rules of play. The sixth-year boys of Slytherin and Gryffindor houses had been at war for the last hour or so, and neither team could afford to rest.

Seamus Finnigan tumbled quite suddenly into their midst. "Hey!" Ron whined rather lividly. "You destroyed our defences!" The sandy-haired boy raised a querying eyebrow at the sad little heap of snow that was once their mighty fortress, and which he was now perched atop. "Well, it was good before you sat on it," Ron insisted. "Sort of."

"Never mind," Seamus passively waved away Ron's concern. "We've found something loads more fun to do than have snowball fights with Malfoy and his miserable lackeys." His eyes glinted, and he smiled in a manner that seemed very conspiratorial to Harry. Mischievous, at the very least.

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "We? Found? More fun?" His attempt was to extract more information from Seamus, but all he got was an incredulous stare for the failed effort.

"You're certainly eloquent today, Harry," Seamus teased in his Irish lilt. Harry frowned. "Yes, more fun. Going to come find out what it is?" Ron and Harry exchanged brief glances, but any hope of independent decision was lost anyway, as Seamus grabbed each of them by an arm and steered them into a nearby grove of conifers.

Neville was there, positively soaked, with bits of snow still tangled in his hair. Apparently his plight from the charmed snowball had not ultimately worked out in his favour. He was nearly as white as the snow clinging foolishly to his forehead, with contrasting pink blotches adorning his face. Ron was amused, and so was Harry, but they opted to be kind and remain silent. Dean Thomas stood next to Neville, wearing a smirk that would have made even Fred and George nervous. Yes, they were definitely up to something.

"We caught wind of a game," started Seamus. "Some third year Hufflepuffs were discussing it in the Great Hall this morning."

"What kind of game?" Ron piped up curiously, his anticipation given away by the hasty nature of the question. This merely inspired Seamus to an attempt draw out the mounting excitement, of course, but Dean cut in before an effectively dramatic pause could be achieved.

"A Gryffindor kind of game, mates. No Hufflepuff could do it like we could. We'll show those kids how to have a good time." He smiled proudly, and Seamus decided he liked that explanation enough to smile also.

Neville blanched. "Wh-Why is it a Gryffindor kind of game?"

"Because," Seamus took the liberty of explaining, "This game requires guts."

Harry would never have admitted that there were excited butterflies in his stomach, dizzying him a little bit. If this was as good as it sounded, it should at least bring something of intrigue to the evening. There was already an excitable buzz in the air, with everyone out playing in the snow at night, like something just had to happen. He smiled at Ron, who wore an expression of guarded suspense.

Neville was almost translucent with apprehension.

Dean continued, sharing glances with everyone as he explained. "Everyone who agrees to play gets a turn to offer a challenge to someone else in the game. Anyway who fails to complete his task is ousted from the game." He said the last bit with conviction, but Neville seemed to be appeased by it – until he added, "For which a massive penalty will have to be served, of course. Public humiliation seems suitable."

After the rules had been more thoroughly divulged, much to the chagrin of poor Mr. Longbottom, the five boys were leaving their secluded meeting place to begin the game. "Oh, come on, Neville," Ron huffed. "Just play the game. Honestly, were you sorted into the wrong house?"

Neville's sober expression became one of offense, but after a tentative silence, he agreed. "Oh, fine." He sounded as if he thought the words would be his last.

Harry suddenly caught glimpse of his most loathed professor perched woodenly atop the stone steps of the castle's main doors and looking extremely irate. Severus Snape sneered impressively (outdoing himself, Harry thought) at every giggling, shrieking, or otherwise remotely expressive student that ended up in his range of vision or hearing. Poor old Snape - that was nearly everyone.

Harry suspected, with mirth, that Dumbledore had asked Snape to supervise. The headmaster had announced at the closing of their last feast before winter holidays that he and a few other teachers had a pressing matter to attend to, and, eyes all a-twinkle, had suggested that everyone take advantage of the snowy grounds for the remainder of the evening. So, Snape was playing babysitter, apparently. That was nearly hilarious.

"I'm going first," Dean announced. "Neville, I challenge you." He grinned widely, and Longbottom did shrink. Everyone had seen the Potions master, no doubt. Ron and Harry were exchanging hushed giggles over the situation. But... oh, this could go badly.

"Um," Harry reluctantly broke in. "We don't want to lose house points. Especially not all of them, in one go. Best not to provoke... that," he finished lamely, pointing towards Snape, who was towering over a first-year and practically foaming at the mouth, the very embodiment of overbearing. It was awe-inspiring.

"He's right," Ron croaked dryly. There were unspoken agreements taking place through surreptitious glances. Everyone knew Longbottom could bring their modest tally of house points down to negative figures simply through daring to breathe the same air that Snape did.

Dean was disappointed at the setback in whatever devious scheme he was devising, but his ruminations seemed to surmount the problem rather quickly, because he suddenly had another plan. "Neville..." he began slowly. The enquiree squeaked in acknowledgment.

"Have you ever been kissed?"

Neville turned a modest shade of cherry. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Never mind, mate," Seamus said. "Think you've just answered that." Everyone laughed. Neville's was nervous, and barely audible.

Dean was sadistic. "Your dare is to get someone to kiss you. Don't come back till you've had a good snogging."

Ten minutes later, four young Gryffindors crouched behind a moss-covered log near the mouth of the Forbidden Forest, sordid expressions painted on all their faces. Longbottom was not amongst them, because they were there to watch him suffer through his jarring predicament. Except that they were watching Longbottom doing...

"Absolutely nothing," Ron mused aloud.

"He's not going to do it, is he?"

They'd been terribly excited when they first settled there, bubbling with laughter and ready to feed their voyeuristic tendencies on their silly friend's prevalent embarrassment. But, what was to be expected, really? Harry heard Seamus sighing exasperatedly.

But then, like something magical unfolding before them, Neville approached someone: A young brown-haired girl from Ravenclaw house. There was much nervous blather and much shuffling of feet (of course), and then she planted an embarrassingly chaste peck on Neville's cheek.

That was it.

"You have got to be kidding me," Ron managed. And then, "does that even count?"

Someone snorted. Someone else coughed. "It was certainly... well," said Seamus. "No one'll be talking about that at breakfast tomorrow – except Neville, that is. Oh, Merlin." There was a collective groan.

Neville was impossibly undone when he approached them, pulling at a few frayed bits of wool on his scarf like they were the source of all his problems. "That was so embarrassing," he managed to sputter dramatically, before collapsing into a heap on the snow. Harry patted him on the back in the spirit of camaraderie nevertheless. He'd completed his task.

The whole of Hogwarts seemed to be at the lake. It was really no wonder why, but the masses didn't decrease its appeal. It looked forlorn on that winter's eve, with the moon so full. Its ice reflected the silvery beacon so perfectly that there were nearly two moons. "Wow," Harry breathed as they approached the diaphanous sheen. The moonlight made him think of Lupin... and Sirius. That train of thought would surely end all fun Harry was planning on having tonight, however, so he pulled his gaze away from the crystalline vision and forced a wan smile. "Neville, it's your turn. You can dare someone now," Harry offered.

Neville was thinking. Hard. The remaining boys exchanged pointed looks and wiggled eyebrows, each of them wondering what their friend might be up to.

"Harry," Neville said finally. Harry looked over to reply, but then realized that he'd just been chosen. Everyone was looking at him. He wasn't nervous. What sort of challenge could Neville come up with, anyway? Harry certainly couldn't think of anything too bad.

Still, he was wringing his fingers, for some reason. Perhaps it was the resolution in his friend's voice, or the finality in which his name was spoken. Probably nothing... Harry was not nervous, no.

"Don't be nervous, Harry," Ron cracked. "He'll probably make you tell Hermione you failed an exam, or something." Laughter ensued, but Neville glared.

"No, I won't. I'm going to make it something that will make sure everyone forgets about my... mortifying experience." Neville turned pink, and his gaze turned abashedly to his feet.

"I'm pretty sure everyone has already-" Ron began, but Dean elbowed him. They glared at one another.

Harry straightened. "Errr," he managed dumbly. "So what is it I have to do?"

Neville looked up. "Kiss Malfoy."

"Holy fuck," Dean muttered appropriately. Harry was totally gob smacked. Ron was...

"Are you serious?" Ron's eyes were impossibly wide. Neville smiled at the reaction his idea had provoked.

Seamus was patting Neville on the back enthusiastically. "That was exactly the dare we needed to spice up the evening," he decided happily. "We underestimated you."

Harry stood there, attempting to absorb his challenge. _Snog Malfoy? What the hell? How would I do that? How would I get out of it alive? How would... How... Oh God._

The ripple effects an event like that could cause would be tremendous, although Harry got the feeling that that was the idea. Harry shivered, and sighed. "I hate you, Longbottom," he managed uselessly. His friends burst into helpless gales of laughter.

"But... I have to kiss Malfoy in front of everyone? And pretend like I... wanted it?" Harry sorely wished that he had considered the arbitrary nature of the rules before readily accepting to enter the game. Telling your subject that you were acting on a dare was against the rules. "But then I would have to pretend like I fancy him."

Neville looked at Harry, and smiled. Harry decided that Neville was inherently evil. He knew that the consequences of backing out of the game would be very dire, should he try. How was he going to get around this?

Seamus piped up. "The rules are forfeited when the game's over, y'know. "

_When is the bloody game over? I want to game to be over now, Merlin help me! Malfoy is going to be absolutely murderous. It's a bloody wonderful thing Lucius has no power over the school anymore. I'd be as good as dead._ "So, I have to do this only until the game ends?"

"Harry," Ron breathed ominously. Everyone's eyes were fixed on something - or some_one_ - who was approaching from behind him. _Oh, help,_ Harry thought. _My life is swiftly ending._

"Just do it," someone whispered quickly. Harry wasn't sure who said it. "Remember... Don't make it look like you don't want to." _How on earth do I do that? I should just get sick all over Malfoy's shoes when I'm done. That would be the honest sentiment, really._

"Potter," Malfoy drawled nonchalantly, speaking as if it were the most boring word in the world. That served to bother Harry, at that moment. _With what I'm about to do, Malfoy should at least have the courtesy to look interested._

Harry had a ridiculously strong urge to see the proud Slytherin run very far away, so that Harry would not have the chance to prove his bravery (foolishness, rather) to so many curious onlookers. He wheeled around to face his rival. Thankfully, not many people were watching. Harry had been imagining a crowd the size of the one that had attended the Quidditch World Cup. There were certainly enough people for this to be all over the school in about half an hour, though, should he do it now. And he needed to do it now, or he would never get it done. Harry thanked whatever possible deity might exist for the fact that Crabbe and Goyle had found something else with which to entertain their rocks for brains. Perhaps he might yet see tomorrow's dawn.

_Just kiss him. Just get it over with. Pretend he's someone else. Who, though? I don't fancy anyone... but I certainly don't fancy Malfoy, so anyone will do. Oh, bugger._

Harry noticed, in one delirious moment before it happened, the way that Malfoy's white-blond hair held the moonlight. His eyes were a deep, intense grey. _He looks like a ghost_, Harry thought. _Has he always been that delicate?_

Harry tried to blot out all thought as leaned in for the kiss. Draco was too shocked to move. Harry was preparing himself for utter repulsion.

There was just a very warm softness. Draco Malfoy did not taste as terrible as he himself was. Not nearly close, actually, which was quite unexpected. Harry was vaguely aware of the fact that he should have been retreating just a moment ago, rather than analysing the boy's taste. And then he was vaguely aware that he should have been moving away just a moment ago, instead of thinking about doing so. _This is a terribly self destructive cycle,_ Harry decided.

Harry did not want to think about what this meant. As he retreated, he felt suddenly as if something solid had driven itself roughly against his torso and propelled him backwards. That hadn't happened, though. It had just felt like it. Harry could also hear sounds that he was sure couldn't have been there – a humming, he thought. It was droning, like that of many insects. Anyway, it did not matter, because Harry did manage to collect himself, and he couldn't have been kissing Draco Malfoy for as long as it felt like... could he? No, surely he was just being self-conscious. He shivered, suddenly feeling that the evening air had grown chillier.

Harry took five steps backwards. That was all he could command his brain to command his feet to do. He found himself away from Malfoy, thanking the prospective deities yet again. _Very good, Harry. Baby steps._

Malfoy was staring. Well, naturally. Actually, everyone was staring. There was still the taste of Draco on Harry's lips. He couldn't remember what it was that tasted similar, but there was something. He would think about it. The scene before him was all quite surreal. There were many wide eyes and gaping mouths. Harry turned, aware that his heartbeat had sped up from the thrumming in his ears.

He headed back to Gryffindor tower, catching the tail end of a whispered remark that definitely contained the word "Mungo's."


End file.
